


Cartography

by breathtaken



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Biting, Bruises, Canon Era, Multi, Polyamory, Threesome - M/M/M, kink bingo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-23
Updated: 2014-03-23
Packaged: 2018-01-16 16:22:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1353892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/breathtaken/pseuds/breathtaken
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>He doesn't know what it was that gave him away. Being a soldier means bruises, of course, and frequently; it's possible that one or the other of them caught him looking too long at a patch of skin where the brown bloomed into yellow, plum, bluish-purple. </i>Admiring.</p><p>Kink Bingo fill: bites/bruises.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cartography

Porthos groans and sucks in a breath, rolling and writhing beneath the hands of his brothers and bedfellows like a ship on the ocean.

Their sharp eyes, and sharper teeth.

He doesn't know what it was that gave him away. Being a soldier means bruises, of course, and frequently; it's possible that one or the other of them caught him looking too long at a patch of skin where the brown bloomed into yellow, plum, bluish-purple. _Admiring._

He's always seen his bruises as a badge of honour, an achievement. _I overcame, I survived._ The experiences make the man, he knows that well and has lived it more acutely than most; and the marks he's come to bear, his bruises and his scars both, are his witnesses.

He'll admit he's always been somewhat fascinated, though he'd thought of it only as reading the map of his life. When it became something more – well, he couldn't say. He's not that introspective really, prefers to just get on with things.

It might not even have been until the first time Aramis wriggled down his body, hovered his lips over the head of Porthos' cock, raised his eyebrows wickedly – and then sank his teeth into his inner thigh instead.

This time it's Athos between his legs – a rare treat in itself – mouthing at the juncture between leg and groin, nipping with his incisors, while Aramis mirrors his movements at Porthos' neck. Aramis' thumb finds a two-day-old bruise on Porthos' ribs from a sparring session – _he should know_ , Porthos thinks, he put it there – and presses hard, Porthos nearly bucking off the bed.

Athos, with the devil's own timing, waits until he's _almost_ recovered from the rush of pleasure-pain to sink his own teeth into the most sensitive part of Porthos' thigh, sucking in a bruise.

Aramis' teeth latch onto the base of Porthos' neck, his hand coming round to pinch a nipple, and Porthos closes his eyes for a moment as arousal shoots through him, trusting his high collar to hide any lasting marks.

He's growing dizzy with desire and want, and Athos finally, _finally_ moves a hand to the base of his cock before swallowing him down, and Porthos groans at the combination of the delicious wet pressure of a mouth round his prick, and as Aramis bites exactly where he's just been sucking.

He'll look at all these bruises, Porthos knows, when he's alone in his lodgings, won't be able to help it. He'll stand in front of the glass and catalogue them, trace the edges with his thumb, press in, feel the swell of pain that reminds him how he's earned them. Over the next few days, maybe even a week, the purple will turn to yellow and slowly fade; and when there's nothing left to see, or to feel?

He'll come back for more.

Porthos hisses as Athos drags blunt nails over a bruise to his shin where someone kicked him in a bar brawl. It's still wickedly tender, and almost, _almost_ pushes him past the point where he still likes it – but then Athos rubs his tongue up the underside of his cockhead just as Aramis bites at a nipple and he's back under, one hand on each of their heads, he can't reach anything further and is probably too far gone to make a decent job of it anyway.

" _God_ , Aramis, Athos," he groans instead, wanting them to hear their own names, wanting them to understand what they are to him.

He might be imagining it, but it feels like his bruises are glowing with warmth, all the points where they've marked him, something of his lovers passing into him where his blood rises up through his skin to meet their mouths.

"Come here," he growls, pulling Aramis' hair and encouraging him upwards. Aramis pushes himself up on his elbows to kiss and bite at Porthos' lower lip, pulling it with his teeth as he rolls his knuckles over the sensitised skin where Porthos' neck meets his collarbone.

His desire building, Porthos imagines himself pulling his shirt on tomorrow, the sensitivity of the linen as it flows over Aramis' markings, the weight of his jacket pressing on them all day. Athos' handiwork on his thigh, aching steadily as he rides.

They draw the map of his life now, and he wants to read them on his body forever.

Aramis kisses sideways along his jaw, and bites Porthos' earlobe between his canines, worrying at the gold ring there as he rolls and pinches Porthos' nipples again.

He's close now, can't hold on much longer, not with the steady roll of Athos' lips along his cock and Aramis' mouth already clamping down again on the cords of his neck. He tightens his hand in Athos' hair for a moment, a wordless signal; and mouths a curse at him as the man lifts off his rock-hard cock altogether.

Athos simply raises an eyebrow, bares his teeth and scrapes them down over the head of his cock – and just the _idea_ of what he could do there has Porthos red-hot, white-out coming.

He throws his head back, eyes snapping shut, and is insensible with pleasure for a moment.

When he slowly comes back to himself, Aramis is stroking the skin he's bitten with a callused finger, and Athos is cleansing his palate with a mouthful of wine.

"Still with us?" Aramis asks, eyes dancing.

"Just about," Porthos replies with a grin, stretching out his muscles as best he can with Aramis still mostly on top of him.

"I'm beginning to wonder what you see in it," Aramis continues – and Porthos looks at him sharply. Aramis' tone is light, but underneath there's something speculative.

 _Oh_ , Porthos thinks, amused; and resisting the temptation to give his next move away by looking at Athos, he sinks his teeth promptly into Aramis' neck, satisfied when his lover's breath hitches.

"Better help you find out then," Porthos smirks, trying not to sound _too_ pleased with himself.

He suspects he's very much going to enjoy the chance to leave his own mark for once.


End file.
